


Safety in Heartbreak

by Ghost (PoisonedDeath)



Series: Photography At Its Finest [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, M/M, Trans Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedDeath/pseuds/Ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should’ve known better – and he knew that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety in Heartbreak

Heartbreak. That was what Iker’s eyes were radiating the moment he stepped foot through the door. He should’ve known better – and he knew that. It had been 10 long years since he’d last seen those eyes, and although he’d never been able to dupe himself into believing that he no longer harboured feelings for the man he’d loved through high school, he thought that he could manage seeing him, at least. It was a chance meeting – just an out-of-the-blue coincidence and now all Iker could think of was Xavi. He snorted out a laugh, and his nostrils flared. Xavi was happy now – he’d found a nice man named Andrés who had a stable job that could realistically support them both. Iker was still working whatever shifts he could as a barista in an attempt to fund his failing photography business.  
Photography was never his first choice career. No, that was soccer, but things change and people happen – or what it people change and things happen? Iker couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he’d been punching above his weight for a long time, and now it was all going to crash on him. The crippling loneliness that no amount of deception could still him from was eroding him from the inside, destroying the very essence of all that he was, and all he could ever be. So, maybe that was a rather dramatic way of thinking about it, but Iker had never been good with emotion. He wasn’t used to feeling, or seeing any expression of emotion, so over time he’d built abstract ideas of both emotions and the world itself. Abstract was something he’d always appreciated – he was intrigued by concepts and possibilities. He was an artist with the mind of a philosopher, and on days like this, it did get to him. He lit a cigarette and moved over to the window to smoke it. Leaning out, he saw two people arguing on the street below. He took a long drag of the cigarette and listened as closely as he could. The taller figure was yelling slur after slur at the smaller, androgynous figure, who was backing away, visibly afraid – even though it was perfectly clear that they had nowhere to go. Iker tried to stay there, tried his hardest not to get involved, but before he could stop himself he’d stubbed the cigarette out and ran through the cramped building he lived in. Reaching the bottom, he flung the door open wildly and stood between the arguing pair.  
This was when Iker’s adrenaline rush decided to take a bow and flee as far away from him as possible, and instead the photographer was left standing awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. A few moments passed, and eventually Iker’s brain began to work again. He approached the smaller of the couple.  
“Are you okay?”  
“Leave it,” the stranger said, and Iker was thrown off by how high their voice was, “he gets like this. It’s okay.”  
“Good girl,” the man approached Iker from behind and pushed the photographer aside as if he were a mere twig. Iker had heard the slurs earlier, and those, combined with the androgynous appearance and the disgusted look on the shorter person’s face made Iker suspect that this individual was transgender. He didn’t want to unnecessarily gender them, but as he watched the couple reconcile (the smaller still backing away slightly, ever so cautious of their partner), Iker knew he had to do something. The androgynous person looked back at Iker as they left, and Iker could see heartbreak in their eyes. He had to do something, somehow.


End file.
